A Slice of the Pearl
by Waiting To Be Inspired
Summary: Norrington is dealing with many troubles and takes it out in not-so-good ways. Fearing his crew member's safety, Jack orders him to stay in his cabin under his watch. Nothing graphic. Slash.
1. Knife Fight With A Tiger

**Guess who's back, back, back. Back again-'gain-'gain. Shady's back, back, back. Tell a friend, friend, points for the person who guesses the song. So I know I haven't published in, like, a year. But I'm back and better than ever (I hope). I'm getting over some personal issues, so maybe you might see some more frequent updates. Who knows. And remember, more reviews = less update time. Simple math.  
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**This is rated a VERY strong T. If you are homophobic or are under, like, fifteen or so, please turn back now. I don't think anything in here is bad enough to merit an M rating, but if anything is or if becomes so, don't hesitate to tell me. Also, I was struggling a bit with character so any pointers on that would be fabulous (pointers on anything really).  
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**Disclaimer: I own....nobody int he first chapter.  
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CHAPTER ONE - KNIFE FIGHT WITH A TIGER

James Norrington counted his lucky stars that a ship with a crew bedraggled as Captain Sparrow's was the kind that would not care about uniforms. In fact, James's mud splattered clothes fit right in with the rest of the lot's poor appearances. His hat sitting crooked on his heads and his tattered wig nearly falling off were not unusual features in this crew. The long, shredded sleeves of his coat from back in the Navy (was that really only a month ago?) were admittedly a bit odd in the height of the summer, but no one questioned him. He made sure always to carry with him several handkerchiefs because, he'd found, he would sweat like a pig.

Once, the good Captain Sparrow took pity upon the wretched soul and invited him into his rooms.

"It seems to me," he drawled, leaning up against one wall. "That you are quite uncomfortable in this weather and have no clothes other than what you are wearing, mate. 'N'I can't have any of my crew dying of sunstroke, now can I?"

"That is not necessary, Captain Sparrow."

"Please, James," the captain leaned over a pile of cloth-like objects, stale with sweat, "call me Jack. Ah, this 'ere beaut should do nicely."

James stared in horror at the shirt in Jack's fist, the thing must've resembled something close to clean once, but that must have been eons ago. The sleeves had been cut away to bare one's arms to the hot tropical sun and breezes. Repulsion widened his eyes as he stuttered out a refusal.

"Nonsense. Now put it on," Jack threw the offending piece of cloth at him. "Hurry up now."

A moment later when the ex-commodore still had not moved, Jack heaved a heavy sigh, "Need I undress you myself?"

Numbly shaking his head, James murmured, "No."

"Then put it on."

"No."

"Put it on. That's an order."

Those three words triggered the compulsive need to obey hardwired into his mind. But he could take off his coat, he couldn't. Nor could he disobey an order from his captain no matter WHO he was. Jack solved his dilemma by grabbing the blue shoulders of his coat and pulling it off the stunned man.

The shirt under it was just tattered rags and it fell off on its own. Leaving James's chest – and more importantly arms – exposed. Eyeing his crewman's forearms warily, Jack whistled. "Those're _some_ scars, y' got there, mate. They got a story?"

James's brown eyes furiously raked the cabin for something of inspiration, finding none, he relied on a story he'd heard the night before in the bar. "Knife fight with a tiger."

"Was ol' Sam's story last night. What the story of these scars?" The shirt forgotten, Jack clung to James's arms.

There was a silence. A silence that answered the question far better than any words ever would.

"I can't have a crewmember of mine doing something like this, nor can I take away their weapons…."

Norrington shrugged.

"You'll have to stay under my surveillance. In my cabin."


	2. Watches

**Author's Note: Now everyone report to the dance floor / To the dance floor, to the dance floor / Now everyone report to the dance floor / Alright Stop!.....Pajama time. Yes, I'm going to post more and more lyrics of the song until someone guesses it, because I can. If all you people out there in reviewer land could give me specific feedback, I'd greatly appreciate it.**

**Desclaimer: Don't own song or anything (except Jack's shirt because I WANT to own it, mkay?).  
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CHAPTER TWO - WATCHES

James stood awkwardly just inside the Captain's door, his few personal belongings and hammock rolled up tight beneath his arm. The aforementioned captain sat before a table, poring over maps and charts, mumbling to himself.

"Captain," James stood erect, eyes fastened straight ahead.

Jack barely glanced up, "Again: it's Jack. Put you things over there and give me a moment."

James placed his few belongings on the floor and began to string up his hammock on one side of the room. Soon a bronzed pair of hands joined in helping him,

"Sir," James paused, pushing away the thought that this was a senior officer her was contradicting, "I don't think this is a good idea. The men will talk."

"Listen here, boy," Jack pushed James down into a chair and leaned in close to his face so that he could feel the captain's rum soaked breath on his cheeks. "On a ship, out at sea, without a fair lass in sight – or even an ugly one – men get desperate, they turn amongst themselves for comfort, they-"

James jerked upright, "I know that. I was in the Navy. But that does not silence the tongues."

"I think your safety is worth a couple mean words," Jack backed over to his desk and began rolling up papers and storing them.

"_My_ safety?"

"The safety of my crew in general." Jack muttered.

"We do not risk that every day at sea?"

"What you do is different. You're throwing yourself directly in the line of fire."

Having no suitable reply, Norrington, knowing he would have second watch, clambered into his hammock to get a few hours of sleep before he was called to watch the seas. Just as he was about to drift off, he heard the Captain whisper, "We're both too good for her, you know. She had to take the Turner."


	3. Strained Stains

**Author's Note: Yes, it was Just Lose It By Eminem. Here's chapter three. Review, my pretties, review.**

CHAPTER THREE - STRAINED STAINS

James rose habitually in time for second watch and exited the quarters softly. The weather was peaceful and they were traveling in a little traveled area so he expected no disturbances that night.

It disgusted him somewhat, that it was so routine now. He had it down to an art – make the rounds once, being very vigilant in scanning the horizon, then take a perch at the bow of the boat. The cool metal of the knife pressed against his ankle in his boot, he wondered absently if the tiny pinprick had drawn any blood as he pulled it out.

The captain had given him a shirt with longer sleeves to wear around the crew so they would not see, not ask, so he would not have to tell; but it was of a much lighter fabric than his coat from the Royal Navy.

The Royal Navy. He'd once served under a Lieutenant Phillips who'd run a very tight ship. He'd just been a powder monkey then – barely six years of age. He and his friend Thomas had gleefully explored every nook and cranny there was to a ship. They grew up together and had always thought they'd grow old together. It seemed as if nothing could get between their friendship. So when they'd witness a little event transpiring between to of the senior crewmates on a night when much rum was passed around, they decided to try it out.

The kissing felt awkward at first. It felt like two warriors fighting. They both learned to enjoy that and each other. They both began to try to win. It never really went beyond kissing – most definitely not as far as they'd seen in the cabin that night – but sometimes there would be a touch here or there.

After a few years of these tentative experiments, having recently had "the talk" with the wizened helmsman. They left their hands upon each other instead of staying far away. James traced the swooping arcs made by Thomas's bones and discovered he quite liked the feeling of another's flesh under his fingertips.

That was when Lieutenant Phillips walked in a saw them. He bellowed like a foghorn, screaming more foul obscenities than either boy had ever heard and dragging James off to his cabin. In the cabin, Phillips took a sturdy leather crop from the wall and had ordered him take off his shirt and turn his back to him. It was five lashes the first time, just to let him know that what he did was "immoral and disgusting".

Every time Phillips caught the two boys together, even if they were just talking or surrounded by other people. He'd take the crop to James's back. Every time James confessed to having impure thoughts about men, the lash came down again.

Five years later, James left that ship and sailed over on the HMS --- with a Governor Swann and his daughter. Having the thought that thinking of men that way, and felling those things about them were bad, every time he caught himself doing either of those, he'd take the knife given to him by Lieutenant Phillips and slide it across the pale flesh on the underside of his upper arm.

Decorum never called for, much less allowed, upper arms to be bared so no one ever noticed and James began to achieve quite the collection of scars. As years moved on, and thoughts grew wilder, the slices moved down his arm until they were where they were now, dancing just above his wrist.

He took the knife, the very same knife that Phillips had given him (probably with the intention it be used for such purposes), rolled up his sleeve, and pressed the blade to his skin. When the faintest beads of blood appeared on the edge of the blade, he slid it down his arm watching the tiny red trail it left. He didn't cry out anymore. He deserved this. Men were not supposed to think about men that way. Ex-commodores with dreams of redemption did not think about pirate captains that way. He was a filthy bastard and deserved this pain.

So consumed with the thin red stains across his arm, James had not heard the quite footsteps, but he heard the strain in the captain's voice when he said "James" and saw the pain in his eyes when he looked up.


	4. Ends

CHAPTER FOUR -ENDS

"Your watch," Jack's voice was tight, "is over."

His voice left no room for argument, but the man holding the knife made a valiant attempt, "But should a ship attack in the night...."

"Roberts will take the end of your watch." Jack dug his fingers deep into James's bicep to get a hold of him, surely leaving behind crescent shaped marks. "ROBERTS!"

The lanky youth appeared within moments, sleep still crowding his eyes. "Yes, Captain?"

"Your watch is starting early."

"Yessir!"

When the enthusiastic boy had run up, James had pulled the cotton sleeve down over his wrist. Now he followed the captain back to his quarters. Jack said not a word, but his shoulders were stiff and his motions were jerky. He sat the bleeding man down and brusquely tended his wounds. When his arm was patched up, he finally looked at James. He searched his eyes for some sign of reason for his actions.

"Why?"

The simple question made the ex-commodore reach back into his boot for the blade. These thoughts, these - hopes, were dirty and wrong. He deserved this pain.

"What the hell," Jack swore, twisting the knife out of James's hands and placing on the table. "I go out to get a hint of the ol' sea's salty breath and I find you doing _this_. This is the entire reason you're in my cabin. Need I take you off watch as well?"

James couldn't help but thinking that this blatant breach in protocol would not be allowed in the Navy. His own little form of self-punishment would simply be ignored. Why did this _pirate_ have to make it such a big deal?

"It's fine," he growled, staring at his white-knuckled fists.

"No!' Jack raged. "No it isn't. You should not feel the need to do that to yerself, there's somethin' bloody wrong with you."

_Lieutenant Phillips said the same thing_, James thought wryly.

"What is th' reason behind this insanity. As captain, it is only I who is allowed to do insane things!"

James rose without a word and walked across the room to his hammock. He laid down and pictured all the women Phillips had introduced him to in Tortuga. He felt none of the excitement of which the Captain had exulted. He just felt cold and very conscious of Jack's frustrated sighs.


	5. Inexplicable

**Author's Note: Chapter Five of Nine. All chapters are written. Your reviews would definitely encourage me to add them.**

CHAPTER FIVE - INEXPLICABLE

The next day went on as usual. As if the ex-commodore was not inexplicably sleeping in the captain's quarters. He went about the same actions with the same people and they treated him the same. In their eyes he saw none of the repulsion that he'd seen with Phillips. Amongst the powder monkeys who'd overheard the rumors, he says curious looks shot toward him and he wondered if any of them would experiment like he and Thomas had experimented. He hoped not. More minds tainted like his was would be a tragedy and he would be sinning for tainting them. There was - longing in some of the crewmember's eyes. A fire that scared him for he knew he'd be burned.

The captain made sure to treat him just the same – giving him the dirtiest, most basic jobs like he could not know his way around a ship as grand as The _Black Pearl_. Every so often he would glance over at the captain and find himself being watched with an intense look in his eyes. It made his heart prickle like it had fallen asleep as his legs and arms sometimes did.

Roberts had maybe one or two new people clustered around him. Or maybe that was just his imagination. His eyes would sometimes flick over to James, like he knew something, or he had questions.

That night, James hurried to bed in silence. Feigning sleep he watched Jack read charts, muttering to himself.

He stood up and walked over to stand by James's hammock, exactly at eye level. He cocked his head and slurred, "Hello there, you Norrington cur. Be glad I took you in, you filthy piece of shit."

"Yes, sir," through his drooping James wondered how he got back onto Lieutenant Phillip's ship.

"Have you anything to confess?" Phillips's hat was mildly askew and he had the crazed look in his eyes back from the nights when the crop came out.

He heard himself whimper and whisper, "Yes, sir."

"What are you?"

He knew the words by heart now, "Horrid. Filthy. Disgusting. Immoral. A sinner. Not normal."

"James," his voice held no tone, no implications.

"Yes, sir."

"James. James? James!"

His eyes fluttered open when a warm hand brushed along his cheek. Jack was there. Phillips gone.

"It's okay. You're safe. I'm here."


	6. Don't Touch Me

**Author's Note: For the first time in a really long time, I felt the obligation to do something and I actually did it - even though I had tons of other stuff to do - and that was posting this chapter. So thank you for making me feel like giving you more. (Even though I know this is a short chapter, only one update per night because I'm sadistic like that.)  
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CHAPTER SIX - DON'T TOUCH ME

"It's time for second watch. I need to go," James began to rise, but Jack pushed him back down.

"I took you off watch."

Norrington snarled, eyes just slits. The captain did not react.

"Tell me why you do that."

He remained silent. Jack reached out a hand to grasp James's shoulder. He jerked back as if he'd been burned.

"Never," Norrington's voice was fierce, "Ever touch me again."

Hurt shone in Jack's eyes as he recoiled. Pursing his lips he stood up and walked away.

There was a long silence, the duration of which James spent sitting and looking at his hands in the dark, listening to Jack as he clambered into his bed. When he spoke it was so quiet he was unsure if he even made a sound at all, "It's not because of her."

He heard Jack sigh. "Why, then?"

"It's what I was taught to do."

"Who would teach such a thing?" Jack's voice was furious.

"It was well-deserved punishment."

"For what?" Jack's face held a mixture a fury and thorough confusion.

James looked down, eyes burning. "Nothing."


	7. Lies

CHAPTER SEVEN - LIES

"Now that's a lie if I've ever heard one. James," tentatively as if he were unsure if James would react violently, Jack placed two callused fingers under the other man's chin and turned his face up to meet his eyes, "What, in the name of all that is holy, is your 'punishment' for?"

Staring into Jack's rum-colored eyes, James felt compelled to share at least the tiniest seed of truth, but there was no way he'd speak about his...problem. "Impure thoughts."

"Lad," his eyes remained riveted to the captain's as he spoke, "every man has impure thoughts. 'specially common folk like you and I."

James shrugged, determined not to say another word that night.

Jack fell asleep eventually. James didn't. He had a lot on his mind. He wanted to open up to someone, but he wouldn't be quick to forget the incidents with Phillips. It was confusing. He didn't know who to take orders from: the lieutenant under whose command he'd grown up, or his current captain. Habit decided for him. These thoughts had been getting worse with all the fuss the pirate was making. It was like a reflex now.

When they were alone, Jack made him wear the sleeveless shirt. He could often catch the captain staring openly as his arms. New cuts would be noticed.

He couldn't leave the cabin, he was sure that would wake the captain. Moving as quietly as he could, James drew the blade from his boot and rolled up the hem of his shirt. He regarded the muscles of his chest critically, looking for the best place. He found a section he was sure wasn't near any major veins and pressed the cool blade to it. The blood coated the blade slick as he cut again and again.

When he was finished, four long, thin scratched crossed his chest. He realized every time he strained those muscles, the scab would crack and rip. Easy access to pain all day. He just hoped he wouldn't bleed through his shirt. On such a thought, he realized he would need to bandage himself in case Jack rose from his light slumber. He wrapped several lengths of bandages across his midriff.

He lay down in his hammock and slept without dreaming.


	8. Storms

**Author's Note: I know I don't do anything normally, so the process in which this section was the first half of chapter eight and then all of chapter nine. So...if the ending seems a bit stretched, it's because I needed to think of a way to get them where they ended up. Sorry y'all.**

CHAPTER EIGHT – STORMS

Morning came slowly with a dreary pink-grey light. The air was still and heavy with moisture. Dark clouds crawled forward from the western horizon. Every so often a crew member would see a fork of lightning out of the corner of his eye or hear a far off rumble of thunder. No man on the ship was at ease, the captain least of all. He had woken up that morning from frightful dreams to smell a faint hint of blood in the air of his cabin.

His charge - how he sometimes thought of Norrington - had been sound asleep.

"Lad," the captain said rather fondly, "I wish you'd tell me why you did these things."

The "lad" did not stir. Jack studied the sleeping figure. Fate had not dealt him a very gentle hand, it was beginning to wear on him - that much was evident. Even in sleep his brow was creased and he moved fitfully as if battling demons.

Strangely, Jack realized, James had refused to remove his wig since they'd met up in Tortuga. The once pristine, white hairs where now covered in mud and clumped together in little knots. One stray lock of real hair had fallen out from under the wig. Jack carefully tucked the soft brown strand back beneath the grimy wig, cursing the man who'd taught James to hurt himself to hell and back. No one, Jack thought, should be made to feel like that - that desperate - that they'd resort to harming themselves. Angry tears burned in his eyes, but he dashed them away with a couple shots of rum before leaving his cabin.

***

James woke slowly from his sleep, stretching like a cat. It wasn't even dawn, but he was the last to wake. The entire crew had been roused by the acrid taste on the heavy sea air. After checking his newest bandages and donning the long-sleeved shirt, James stepped out onto the deck.

Jack and Gibbs were conferring at the helm of the ship, often glancing toward the horizon. They seemed to conclude their discussion and James saw Gibbs draw in a great breath of air then begin bellowing out instructions. Jack shooed Cotton away from the wheel and turned the shit perpendicular to the clouds.

The next few hours became an indistinguishable memory of sea water, rain, and bellowed orders. The scratches on James's abdomen did crack and bleed, but the bandages held the blood back. His muscles burned and by the end of the trial – when there was land on the horizon – he was sure that he would drop.

"What part is this?" James shouted over the howling winds to the Captain as he dashed by.

"Tortuga!" Jack Sparrow called over his shoulder.


	9. Synonomous With Love

**Author's Note: This is the last chapter. There will be no more. I do not write sequels. I would love to hear what you think though.**

CHAPTER NINE - SYNONYMOUS WITH LOVE

The streets of Tortuga were filled to the brim with muck and grime and crawling with unsavory characters. James had been to Tortuga many times before, but there was something in him which made him follow the captain, almost clinging to the hem of his coat - some fear he could not name.

Jack took this all in stride - albeit a rather inebriated one - and led James into a familiar bar. After ordering several bottles of rum, he turned to him, "James. You'n'me're gonna get us a quiet little room and have ourselves a nice little chat."

Unwilling to leave the confident form of the captain, James followed him up a set of stairs. The room was thankfully void of inhabitants save a filthy bed. Jack locked the door and pulled the cork out of the first bottle.

"Tell me Jamesie," he took a swig then offered the bottle to his companion, "What was it like sailing through that hurricane?"

The ex-commodore's eyes glazed over, remembering, " It was quite difficult. Much like that storm we just passed through. 'Cept most of your men worked so hard 'cause they were loyal to you personally. Mine were either loyal to the crown or the money I gave them. None to me. There's a difference in the quality of their work. I could tell."

"My men trust me," Jack opened another bottle when he saw that James wouldn't be giving his back. Resting his eyes on the figure that sat cross legged on the floor to avoid sitting so close to Jack, he said, "That is: MOST of my crew trusts me."

There was a silence punctuated only by bar noises and the swish of liquid in their bottles as they were splashed into mouths.

"What do you want me to say?" James took another swig.

"I want you to trust me," Jack eyed the swiftly dropping level of his friend's drink, wondering how much he could take.

After much deliberation, James peered up at Jack, "Why're you making such a fuss about this?"

"You're part of my crew. I don't-"

"Fuck that shit, Jack, I'm not stupid," James cried out. "You wouldn't make this big a deal of it if it were anyone else. Hell, if I was in the Navy now-"

"I care about you, dammit," Jack burst out. "I don't like seeing you hurt. It hurts me, too."

"Why? I'm just another crewmember. In the Navy-"

"Fuck it, James, this ain't the Navy. And I DO care about you. Does it matter why?"

"Yes," James's voice was raw.

Jack said nothing. Only drank. Time stretched and wavered in that little room of sin.

"So-" James's voice was still raw. "So what do you want? You want me to show you all my scars? Here! You can see them!" He stripped off his shirt. "Is this what you wanted? To see this? No!"

"Yes," the captain longed to reach out and touch the newest scars that raced across his friend's abdomen. "I wanted to see them and to know them."

"Know them? You don't want to know them. To know these," Norrington spun around and pointed to the old scars on his back. "These were the first. When I was learning this discipline. They were put their by my Lieutenant. All these were his. To teach me my thoughts were wrong. To encourage me to do this," he turned his arms toward the captain, "even after I left his ship. You don't want to know that."

"What thoughts in God's name would merit a punishment such as this?" Sparrow's voice was edged with fury.

"Impure thoughts about men," he spat the last word and tipped the bottle back.

Jack's voice was low and dangerous, "I'll kill that bastard. I swear I'll kill him!"

He raged a while longer and then looked back at his companion. "James," this time it was the captain whose voice was raw, "you need to understand something," he pulled the man up onto the bed next to him, "there's nothing wrong with two men loving or wanting each other. There's nothing wrong with this," the pirate pressed his lips to the ex-commodore's.

James gasped and tried to pull away, but Jack refused to let him. Finally he drew back and looked James in the eye, "That was not a sin."

His eyes burned but his lips tingled pleasantly. James gave up the battle and gave into his tears, resting his head against Jack's chest. Jack rocked him back and forth until he looked down at him and saw James had fallen asleep with the faintest beginnings of a smile on his face.

Jack laid him down, kissed his forehead and said, "Some people say caring is synonymous with love."


End file.
